"Over the ditch, my lord, close by the wall where his page is standing by his side," and he pointed to where Eustace stood.
Sir George blew his horn, and in answer to the signal the eager hunters broke off their chase and returned, puzzled in no small degree by the summons they had received. In a few brief words the situation was explained to them, and the party rapidly pushed on to rejoin their injured companion.
De Lacey, upon hearing that his quondam friend was hurt, was so overcome by a most chivalric spirit of forgiveness that he determined to be the first to reach his side, and to offer him what relief lay within his power. Filled with this noble resolve, he hurried forward, but, unfortunately for him, he was not destined to accomplish his mission, for as he was crossing the ditch his pole snapped asunder, and he suddenly found himself located in the very centre of the rank mud dyke. There he was, and all his efforts to free himself caused him only to sink deeper and deeper.
"O, Blessed Mary, save me; save me!" he yelled out in an agony of anguish as he felt himself slowly but surely sinking; but not, apparently, feeling very much assured about the answer to his prayer, he turned from things spiritual to things visible and mortal.
"Help me; save me, George," he cried.
Sir George Vernon was too much overcome by the ludicrous aspect of the affair to lend any assistance just then, for he well knew that two feet, if not less than that, was the excess of its depth.
"Let him alone," he cried. "If he had not so befuddled his head with ale he would remember as well as I do that twenty inches would reach the bottom of the mud."
Had Lady Maude been there she would in all probability have sent her lord and master to aid the poor unfortunate, but she was safe at Haddon, and, rejoicing in his freedom from restraint, he laughed louder and louder as he watched the frantic efforts of his friend.
"Don't let me die," pleaded poor De Lacey. "Don't let me die like a dog. Oh, dear, I'm going, I'm going! Blessed Virgin, help me; save me!" and the old man made a last great struggle to free himself.
Manners could bear it no longer. He clearly perceived that what was fun to them was mortal terror to the pitiable object of their merriment, and, advancing to the edge of the dyke, he held out his pole at arm's length to render him what assistance he could.